


Stunted

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing’s changed since they were children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stunted

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Alfrid is obsessed with Bard. The reason Alfrid became The Master of Laketown's lackey is because he's been trying to repress feelings he's had towards Bard since the both of them were much, much younger. Basically being the schoolyard bully is the only way that Alfrid knows to catch Bard's attention” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21742315#t21742315).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He goes alone to the cells, fumbling almost nervously with the keys. He doesn’t need the guards with him—Bard never gives him any trouble. Not physically, anyway. He wants to _enjoy_ himself without the sneering eyes of witness who don’t understand. This is why he set out to work for the Master in the first place. His _favourite_ thing. Exerting his control over Bard, who was born with all the advantages Alfrid’s had to scrape and fight for. 

Bard’s naturally good looking. He was a fair child and grew into a handsome man, he was strong then and is stronger now, and he was beloved at every age. So beloved now that it’s too risky to keep him in the cells longer than overnight. Alfrid never had any of that, but he has a sharper mind, and he’s the one that worked his way into the higher position. So he’s the one that gets to slip the key into the lock, holding Bard’s freedom in the palm of his hand. 

Bard’s fallen asleep, unsurprisingly. It’s hardly the first night he’s spent in these cells, and now he just makes the best of it, slumping against the wooden wall with his head tilted back and his eyes closed, perfect hair pulled back from his perfect face. The light that trickles in from the high barred windows bathes him in the cool morning glow, and, despite all his rags and sore need of a bath, makes him look like a king. 

He’s a prisoner. _Alfrid’s_ prisoner. Yet Alfrid doesn’t wake him right away, instead sneaking silently inside. Even if he could afford to keep Bard locked up around the clock, it wouldn’t be worth it. It’s never as rewarding as it should be, as Alfrid thinks it’ll be. Falling asleep is just another show of that. Bard doesn’t give him the satisfaction, doesn’t acknowledge the _power_ Alfrid holds over him, and that just makes Alfrid _loathe_ him all the fiercer.

Alfrid kneels down before Bard’s tired form, amidst the dirt and grime and unused chains. He briefly entertains the fantasy of tying Bard up, wrapping him in thick metal and forcing him to struggle, to admit that Alfrid’s _won_ , but as usual, Alfrid can’t bring himself that far. Perhaps, in a way, he’s flattered that Bard could fall asleep here, trust Alfrid enough to play by the rules. Too bad Alfrid never seems to get those points when Bard’s awake. Looking at Bard being so sickeningly beautiful without the slightest effort twists Alfrid’s gut, until he’s reaching out to close his fist in Bard’s dark hair. He yanks it in sudden malice, the way he used to tug Bard’s hair when they were young while the other boys chased after girls. It was the only way he could get Bard to notice him. Bard wakes up with a startled grunt, and he immediately shoves at Alfrid’s chest, forcing Alfrid to fall back on his ass.

That’s nothing new, either. He sits there, glaring, full of hate and maybe want and denial and jealousy, and Bard yawns and rubs the back of his neck where Alfrid grabbed him. Even his voice is lovely, deep and gravelly as he murmurs, “What do you want, Alfrid?”

There are so many things Alfrid wants to say, but as usual, he just snaps, “You’re free to go, by the Master’s and _my_ mercy.” Bard snorts, looking just as infuriatingly unimpressed as always. 

He climbs up to his feet, sighing insolently, “You’ll forgive me if I forgo a ‘thank you.’” When he stretches his arms, his broad shoulders tense, his muscles straining through all his tattered clothes. It’s as though nothing can defeat him. He’s as perfect now as he was before a night in the cells, as he was when he first bought the clothes, as he was when he was small and making everyone around him smile. And all Alfrid’s ever wanted is to kick him in the shins and clutch tight to him when he falls. 

Instead, Alfrid gets up. Bard heads home to his family, while the man who thinks more of him than they ever could trails bitterly behind.


End file.
